What Dads Do
by moms5thchild
Summary: There are many faces to fatherhood. The members of the 8th Precinct have their own challenges when it comes to their children.


I have so many ideas on the go, yet I found there was a connecting thread in most of them. That thread was family. Whether the family was the accepted one of spouse and children or the created one of friends and work mates these stories all seemed to have this idea running through them. Ashantii, you were the one who pointed me in this direction... and I haven't forgotten the Ross/Jimmy story we talked about. Also, to my beta reader... I can't do what I do without your eagle eye for grammar and gentle input when mistakes are made. Thanks.

**What Dads Do**

**Part 1**

Gary Fisk's feet were cold. Bare feet stuffed in scuffed running shoes, pyjama pants peeking out from the bottom of his jeans he didn't even bother with a shirt when he went to pick up his drunken teen aged son at 3:30 in the morning.

David Fisk was supposed to be home at eleven. He was supposed to be double dating with his best friend at a Life Teen Dance in Bay Ridge. Instead he was alone and drunk, phoning home in the middle of the night from Red Hook.

"I'm gonna kill that kid," Fisk muttered. "I'm gonna find out why he is in the ass end of nowhere and then I'm gonna kill him."

MAry Lou Fisk had answered the phone. The drugs she took to counter act the chemo therapy screwed up her sleep patterns so when her son called Lou was still awake. He blubbered and cried and begged to come home and his mom said of course… some one would come and get it him. That someone was his father.

"I'm gonna kill that kid." He was, Fisk was going to wrap his hands around David's scrawny little neck but that was better than having the kid wrap himself around a telephone pole. The last thing Gary Fisk wanted was to have his wife go down to the morgue to identify their eldest child's body. To make sure that didn't happen he was going to get his son. Then, he was going to kill him.

Suddenly, there was David, sleeping on the stoop of a crumbling bodega. Pulling the car to a stop, Fisk stared at his son. David looked like shit with his jacket ripped and vomit splashed on his pants. Then the boy shuddered, woke and stared blurry eyed at his father. He pulled himself to his feet, staggered over and threw open the door.

"Dad," tears ran down David's cheeks, "I'm so sorry. I was just gonna meet some guys at the dance and Eddy said there was a party and the guys did the driving and then it was… they was… I was… Oh, God, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Fisk pulled his son into the car, shut the door and snapped the boy's seat belt shut. He pulled a Kleenex out of his jeans pocket and wiped his boy's face. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

"Thanks, Dad," David managed to mumble before he fell asleep.

"You won't thank me in the morning." Fisk said as he put the car into gear. "I love ya, kid, but if you do this again I am gonna kill you."

**Part 2**

"MMMM, that feels so good."

Frank Daniels smiled as he carefully spread the gently warmed coco butter around his wife's growing belly. He told Karen he was doing this to make sure she didn't get bad stretch marks. Actually Frank loved the feeling of moving his hands over his wife's swelling stomach and dreamed of their child growing there.

"Hey, Buddy," Frank lowered his head so his mouth was centered over Karen's belly button, "Are you coming out soon? I really want to get to know you better."

Karen batted his head away. "I don't want Buddy showing up before schedule." She levered herself off the couch, and pushed past the wheelchair. "I gotta go pee."

Frank pivoted around and watched his wife's sexy butt head to the bathroom door. "Is he tap dancing on your kidneys again?"

Karen shot back, "She is gonna be a soccer star."

"He is going to be a movie star."

"She is going to be chief of police," and with that Karen slammed the bathroom door shut.

Frank wheeled himself into the spare bedroom of the condo. Well, not a spare room anymore, it was now the nursery. The walls were painted a pale yellow; balloons and kites added bright colors to the room. The crib had double doors on the side so he could reach into it easily and there was a low shelf instead of the usual change table. Even here he needed special accommodations for his semi-useless legs. All these things were necessary to make it easier to care for Buddy.

Then he felt Karen's hand on his shoulder. "This room is just perfect."

He covered her soft hand with his calloused one, "Yeah, it is."

Karen settled on her husband's lap. "Hey, where's my big, strong guy?"

"Now which one is that; Dunbar, Russo or Selway?"

"Stop that," Karen sounded angry. "Where is this crap coming from?"

"Just the usual worrying about being a father, you know, teach Buddy to be a good boy; teach him to walk and to play baseball and soccer and all the stuff I can't do."

Karen kissed Frank and then gave him a quick bitch slap. "Russo is a jack ass, Selway is gullible and Dunbar isn't gonna be playing baseball any more than you are. You will do the best you can do and I am always amazed at just how good you are. Besides, Buddy will only know her daddy just the way you are and she'll love you."

"He will."

"Yes, she will."

"Why don't we find out the sex of the baby?"

"Because," Karen said, "we want to be surprised."

Frank wrapped his arms tight around Karen, "That's right, I like surprises. Everyday I wake up beside you I'm surprised at just how lucky I am."

**Part 3**

The front door was finally shut. The ramp that covered the steps so the larger items could be moved inside was put away for the night. Beds and dressers, the kitchen and bathroom, all the necessary things that had to be done first when moving in were done. It had taken eighteen months, one cashed-in life insurance policy and a big gift from his grandfather, but Marty Russo was moving his family back into a house. No more apartments, no more mutual walls shared with the drug dealer next door; the Russo family had a home of their own again.

"Jan, are the kids in their jammies yet?"

Janice Russo called from the kitchen. "Yes, they're watching TV and waiting for you, Lord and Master."

"Cut the crap, Janice. Don't pull this shit in front of the kids."

She snapped around and glared at her husband. "Oh why, Lord and Master, would I do anything like that? In your beautiful house in this beautiful neighbourhood I can only marvel at how lucky I am."

Marty clenched his fists until his arms quivered but kept his voice low and even. "If you hadn't decided to go on your Texas adventure and demand we sell our place in Lynbrook we would still have a nice house in a nice place. We have what I can afford."

"I could have helped buy a house, but you wouldn't take my money." Janice paced back and forth before she spoke again. "I promise I won't leave again. If we had done this together we could have had a better place."

"No, no way I know all about your promises and I'm not risking my children's home again because you can't make up your mind. Ask me again in five years and I might feel differently." Marty turned toward the living room.

"What if I feel differently in five years?"

"Well, then there will be a place for my babies that can't be sold for a wild goose chase across the country." Marty stopped and looked over his shoulder at his wife. "Will you go to couples therapy with me?"

"No, I don't need some talking head to tell me how I feel."

"Then the house stays in my name alone." Marty shook his head and headed to his kids.

Russo swooped down on Marty Jr. and Julie, "Hey, who's ready for bed?"

"Can't we see the rest of the movie?" Marty Jr. whined as he slipped off the sofa to grab his father's leg.

"No bed," crooned Julie was she jumped and tackled Russo's other leg from her plush chair.

"Yes, bed," Marty swung his legs wide as he turned away from the television and toward the stairs. "Ouch, I guess I've got ankle weights on," he moaned over the giggles of his children. "I better take them off." With that Marty reached down, pulled his laughing children up and over his shoulders and raced up the stairs. He bounced Marty Jr. on his race car bed and turned to slide Julie down to his side.

"Tomorrow we get the bedrooms finished and you'll both have your own rooms." With that Marty reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a well loved copy of 'Curious George'. As he settled on the floor, Julie on his lap and Marty Jr. curling up under the covers, Russo started his favourite part of the day. "For now, we find out what the man in the yellow hat will do with George."

**Part 4**

"It's time to go to church. It's time to go to church, church, churchie, lurchie church." Jaime sang as he pounded on the bedroom door with enough force to rattle the glass.

Jim Dunbar pushed his head under his pillow. Why, oh why couldn't the kid just eat his Co Co Puffs and watch cartoons like a normal four year old… but no, Christie had to enrol him in a day care run by the Sisters of St. Joseph and suddenly Jaime had to go to church.

"I'm sleeping."

The door burst open and Jaime ran in and jumped onto the bed, "How can you be sleeping if you are talking?"

"I talk in my sleep," Jim faked a loud, rattling snore that sent Jaime into a fit of giggles.

"You're a faker."

"Go tell Christie I'm still asleep. She knows I talk in my sleep."

"Christie!" Jaime's high pitched screech combined with his leap from the bed insured that Jim was not going to fall back to sleep this morning. He snaked out his arm out and hit the talking alarm clock. "Seven forty three A.M.," the tinny female voice came out. Jim groaned and rolled over on his stomach. He had been at the station until eleven P.M., babysitting the precinct while the night supervisor was on the street directing the investigation of a triple homicide. This was what being a sergeant was all about, covering other people's asses.

Jaime was back, bouncing on the bed as he passed along his news. "Christie says wake up. She made waffles." He slammed down on top of Jim. "She says you need to go to church. That you're a heater, no a he man… no a heathen."

Jaime began to sing, "Jimmy's a heathen, a heathen, a heathen."

"I'll show you what a heathen does," Jim grabbed the wiggling child and began to tickle him. Jaime squealed and twisted in a futile attempt to get away. Jim pulled the boy closer and continued the tickle attack.

Almost breathless with laughter Jaime shot out, "Daddy; stop it!"

Jim stopped instantly.

Jaime pulled free and ran for the door. "I'm telling Christie on you."

"Yeah," Jim whispered, "tell her everything."

Slowly Jim levered himself out of the bed. Jaime had called him Daddy. Granted, he was probably not aware what he had done. Jim had over excited the boy to the point he probably couldn't think straight… but Jaime had called him Daddy. Jim had never expected or even wanted that to happen, but it did… and it felt good.

He slipped his robe over his shoulders and followed his nose to the kitchen where waffles and bacon gave off their not so subtle aromas.

"Good morning, handsome," Christie leaned toward Jim and kissed him on the cheek. "I see Hurricane Jaime got you up."

"Yeah," Jaime said through a mouthful of waffle, "I told you I could wake Jimmy up."

"That you did, kid." Jim reached across the kitchen island, searching for his coffee cup, "and now you have a job to do."

"What's that?"

"You have to help me pick the right clothes to wear to go to church with you."

Fin


End file.
